Katherine, Called Kit
by apinchofpixiedust
Summary: A following of Kit Snicket from the day her world was torn apart as a child to the fateful day on the island. Kit/Dewey
1. Chapter 1: The End of Childhood

Chapter 1: The End of Childhood

Very few moments distinctly stuck out in her mind. After all, there were 12,433,217 minutes in her entire life; she didn't have time to focus on one or the other. There were very few exceptions to this rule. One was when she was eleven years, four months, five days, four hours, and seventeen minutes old.

Her lungs stopped working. Completely. Her heart probably wasn't working either, but she couldn't remember. All she recalled was looking down at the two figures on the ground, loss of air, and two strong arms lifting her up and turning her away from the scene.

"Kit? Kit, honey, can you hear me?"

She heard her brother's strong, calming voice, but was unable to respond. He just held his sister closer and combed his fingers through her hair. She always felt so young and powerless when he did this, more so than she usually felt next to her brothers. The one holding her, Lemony, was seven years her senior, and Jacques, the eldest, was two-and-a-half years older than Lemony.

If Kit was told to choose her favorite brother, she would immediately answer "Lemony," but she would feel horrible about it afterward. She just didn't connect with Jacques. He was a natural-born leader, an Alfa, a dominant dog. So was Kit. She refused to take directions from her eldest brother, irritating him greatly and generally causing some loud, verbal fight. Lemony, on the other hand, was their mediator. He was gentle and calming. That was what she needed at times like these.

"Shh," she heard Lemony coxing. "You're alright."

She could feel her throat loosening and air returning to her lungs. She could feel her brother rocking her gently.

And without even opening her eyes, she could see her other brother, Jacques, storming over to them.

"Damn it, Lemony, put her down."

Lemony covered Kit's ears. "Do you really think she needs to hear that right now?"

"I think she needs to get used to this sort of thing. It's better to have her cry now than later when it's anything of importance."

"But, Jacques, this is… this is different."

"No, actually, it really isn't."

Lemony looked at his brother in the eyes. "No," he said, "she's too young."

"I was about her age."

"You were fifteen, Jacques, she's eleven."

"So you don't think she could handle it?"

Kit hated when people talked about her like she wasn't there. She was finally able to speak. "What can't I handle?" she rasped.

Lemony opened his mouth to speak, but Jacques cut him off. "What do you remember?" he demanded.

"I walked in the house, and I saw two… things on the ground. Then I got scared and I – I couldn't breathe."

"Do you know what those two tings are?"

Kit shook her head. Jacques took her out of Lemony's grasp and set her on the ground to walk; he refused to carry her.

"Come here," Jacques demanded.

Kit glared at him, "Bite me."

Jacques grabbed her arm and faced her toward the two objects on the floor. In a wave of horror, Kit realized what these things were. They were bodies, two cold, lifeless bodies laying there in her living room. She turned to run back to Lemony, but Jacques held her back. "Look closer," he told her. Kit faced the bodies again; this time she focused on their faces. As soon as she did, her breathing became fast and uneven. She could feel her lungs panicking, her throat closing.

Lemony leaped out of his seat and ran out of the room. Less than four seconds later, he returned, holding a small, white container.

"For God's sake, Lemony, she doesn't need that."

Lemony shoved his brother out of the way in an effort to reach Kit. He opened the box, withdrew the inhaler, put it into Kit's mouth, and pushed the button twice. Immediately, her throat relaxed. She could breathe.

Childhood asthma isn't always life threatening. Many people grow out of it. So did Kit, mostly anyway. She was under constant watch until she was about nine. Since then, she had only two occasions during which she needed her inhaler. When she was ten and saw Lemony break his arm, and now, when she saw the dead bodies of her parents lying on the floor.

Jacques looked at his sister in the eyes. "Do you know why this happened? Do you know who did this?"

Kit shook her head slowly, but before Jacques could say anything else Lemony scooped up his sister and gave his brother an icy glare.

"No," he snarled, and that was the end of the discussion.

Kit shivered in her brother's arms; she had never seen him so angry.

That night Kit didn't sleep; she stared at the ceiling as tears stung her eyes. She could hear her brothers' voices downstairs. (Kit's room was two floors above the main.) She didn't really understand the argument, but she caught bits and pieces.

"The earlier she gets used to this the better off she'll be," Jacques shouted.

"You don't know that," replied Lemony. "For all you know that'll make it worse."

And a little while later:

"I'm her legal guardian now!"

"That doesn't mean you know what's best for her!"

And then:

"She'll figure it out anyway. We'll be moving in a couple of days."

"A couple of days?" Lemony spat. "Jacques, how much more do you think she can take? She just lost her parents and her brothers are about to kill each other. She can't handle this; she's only eleven years old!"

"Do you think it's any easier for me?" Jacques demanded. "I have no idea what to do! I'm terrified, Lemony! Now… oh, God, look at how I was treating her. I was a monster."

There was a dead silence until the doorbell rang.

"Are you kidding me? It's nearly midnight!" he continued, but Lemony had nearly run to answer. He gave a low cough, which preceded three taps on the door. Kit listened intently to this secret exchange.

"It's late," Lemony whispered.

"I just heard; I'm so sorry."

Kit recognized the voice immediately and sprinted downstairs. Tears streaming down her face, she rushed into her friend's arms.

"Beatrice, I'm so scared!" Kit sobbed.

"It's ok, angel; it's okay. I'm here."

Jacques walked awkwardly into the entryway. "Good evening, Beatrice."

"Evening," she replied curtly. "You seem to be doing a splendid job of comforting you sister."

He looked at the floor. "Actually, I was hoping I could talk to Kit. I haven't been… a supportive brother today. Kit, will you come with me? We can make some hot tea."

Grudgingly, Kit released her hold on her friend and walked to the kitchen with her oldest brother. Before she completely left the room, she turned around in time to see Beatrice rush into Lemony's arms. She felt a wave of jealousy at the sight.

Kit took a seat as her brother poured already steaming water into two mugs. "Milk or sugar?" he asked while adding the teabags.

"Tea should be as bitter as wormwood, and as sharp as a two-edged sword," she recited.

Jacques laughed, "Is that a 'no'?"

The look Kit gave him was eerie; her face was completely unreadable. "Why did they die?" she asked bluntly.

Jacques sighed and put down the mugs. "This is a lot for someone your age to handle," he began. "Our family is very involved with an organization called –"

"V.F.D," Kit interrupted.

"Right, and at the moment, that's all you need to know. Lemony, Beatrice and I are… well, we've been doing this for a while. Now that Mom and Dad are gone, we're all very nervous that their killer is going to… come after you."

Her expression remained impassive.

"We need to take you some place safe.

"Understandable."

"Have you heard of the Hotel Denouement?"

"No," she answered skeptically.

"For all intensive purposes, it's a safe house for V.F.D, and –"

"And, since you think a deranged murderer is after me, I'm going to be living at this 'safe house.'"

"You're very perceptive."

"I call it common sense."

"I wish," he muttered, handing her a cup of tea.

Kit pensively sipped at her mug for a moment. Then suddenly stood up and began to walk toward the den. "I need my journal," she explained to Jacques. "I'll be right back."

Kit's journal was neither remarkable nor secretive. She included in it no personal feelings or opinions. She used it to record upcoming events; she liked to be one-step ahead. Her diary, on the other had, was literally locked in a safe under a lose floorboard beneath her dresser. Even at eleven, Kit had plenty of secrets.

Reviews are love. Without love, I have no inspiration. Without inspiration, I cannot write. Therefore...


	2. Chapter 2: Beginning of Secrets

Disclaimer: Obviously, I own none of this. Please don't sue me.

Chapter Two: A New Home

On the outside, Kit pretended everything was fine. As she watched her brothers pack her belongings into various boxes, she acted as if it was perfectly normal to rush away from the life she knew immediately following the murder of her parents.

Jacques had changes dramatically during the night. He became much more loving and patient; it was somewhat uncanny to Kit. When the packing began, Jacques advised that they "Pack only the essentials," and Kit didn't need to ask why. After all, what would be the purpose of bringing furniture if their new home was a hotel?

She sat miserably on the steps watching taxi cab after cab come to her beloved home, load a few boxes and drive away into the night. According to her brothers, a moving van was "too conspicuous."

"Really, and a caravan of taxis isn't?" Kit demanded, but she received no answer.

Lemony kneeled and placed his hands lovingly on his sister's shoulders. "Kitten, sometimes what we do… won't make a whole lot of sense. You just have to trust Jacques and me, and I know that's going to be tough. We're doing everything we can to keep you safe, I promise."

Kit nodded and watched Jacques carry a box labeled "family photos."

"We don't keep pictures." She looked right into her brother's eyes. "What's in there?"

Lemony shuddered. It was, frankly, unnerving how cold and terrifying his young sister could be. It shouldn't be like this, he thought. She should be happy. She should have a family, a whole family.

"Like I said, this is one of those times when you just have to trust us," and he went to help Jacques.

Kit sulked up to her bedroom. Upon first glance, everything seemed normal. Her bed was still there. The open window blew her curtains in a sort of dance. The bedside lamp glowed. It looked happy, whole.

But it wasn't. Like her, it only looked complete on the surface.

In reality, the drawers were empty, like her heart. Her closet was dark barren, like her eyes. The curtains swirled helplessly in whichever direction the wind dictated, like her body.

Unwilling to cry, Kit moved over to her bed and began to fold the blankets. She ran her fingers along the embroidery; this was the quilt her mother made for her first Christmas. Some of the stitches were uneven, and the top squares held more stuffing than the bottom. Sometimes, her mother changed thread colors mid-pattern.

To Kit, it was perfect.

It was made with love, and it smelled like Mom. That was all she needed.

On the bottom row on the third square, a tiny tear separate the layers of cloth. It was too small to notice, unless someone was intentionally looking for it. But it was just big enough for two tiny fingers to hide a small, folded family portrait inside. Kit reached and took out the picture, looking at her parents' smiling faces.

They were at the beach, all five of them. The picture was years old, and Kit didn't even remember the trip. That didn't matter.

There they were.

Kit's vision blurred and she tasted salt on her lips. Angrily, she wiped away the tears.

"I miss you," she confided. "I miss you so much."

"We all do," said a voice behind her.

Kit jumped around, embarrassed to be seen in such an emotional state. "Hi, Beatrice," she greeted as she folded the picture back into its hiding place.

Beatrice took a step closer to Kit. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Kit shrugged. "Not really," she replied.

Beatrice sighed and sat down next to Kit. "You know, it's alright to feel upset and angry and everything else. It just means you loved them."

"I know, but I don't know if they did."

"Sweetie, of course your parents knew you loved them. Why would you say that?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm not thinking straight." She took a deep breath. "I'm so scarred."

"Why?"

Kit looked solemnly at Beatrice. "Because whoever killed them is going to come back, and this time they'll come after me and my brothers."

"What in the world would make you say that?"

"I'm young, not oblivious. My family is clearly involved in… something. I don't understand all of it, but I know I'm not safe, not now, not ever."

Beatrice paused. "That's a lot to worry about for someone your age," she said as she wrapped her arms around Kit.

Surprisingly, Kit leaned against her friend and closed her eyes. Beatrice ran her fingers through the child's hair until she finally fell asleep. She gently laid her down and covered her with the quilt.

"Goodnight," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Her own eyes began to water.

"Beatrice?" Lemony called from down the hall.

She quickly leveled her voice. "I'm in Kit's room," she quietly answered, and she heard footsteps approaching.

"Are you alright?" Lemony asked.

"Yes, of course, I'm fine," she responded without taking her eyes off Kit. "I just think this is too much for her to handle."

"You're underestimating her. Kit's strong; she's a fighter," he laughed softly. "Hell, I never want to face the wraith of a fully determined Kit."

"You know that's not what I mean. She's so young, too young for all of this."

Lemony walked forward and held her hand. "You know this isn't what I want for her, for any of us."

"Yes, I know," she whispered. "But I wish there was something I could do to keep her safe. She's like my little sister."

"She _is_ my little sister, and I swear that I'm doing everything in my power to protect her."

"I know," she whispered again. She closed her eyes tightly and felt a tear fall, then another. "I just don't want to lose you."

He guided her face toward his and looked at her in the eyes. "I'm right here," he reassured as he brushed away a tear and held her hand tighter.

This time she smiled. "I know," and she kissed him tenderly. "I love you."

He smiled back. "I love you, too."


	3. Chapter 3: New Places, New Faces

Chapter Three: Waking Up

There was a sudden jolt, and Kit sleepily opened her eyes. At first, she thought she was still in her bed. She could smell her quilt and feel Beatrice's hand holding hers. She felt another jolt.

"Could you please be a bit more careful? She really needs rest." Beatrice asked quietly.

"I'm trying, but we both know this road's no basket of roses. Someone should really repave this."

She was in a car, Kit gathered that much. She stretched and opened her eyes.

"Good morning," she smiled at Beatrice.

"Let's hope so."

"Where are we?"

"Right now, we're driving to your new 'home.'"

Kit assumed as much, but she was somewhat disappointed. As silly as it sounded, she wanted to say, "Goodbye," to her childhood home.

She wrapped the blanket tightly around her and sat upright. "Thanks for staying with me last night. I really needed it."

Beatrice kissed the top of her head. "So did I."

Kit looked out the window; there was nothing remarkable about the landscape. They could have been anywhere, but Kit knew better than to ask for a specific location. Instead, she settled for, "What's the name of this place?"

"The Hotel Denouement," Beatrice answered, but she could tell Kit wasn't satisfied. "It's a safe-haven of sorts for our organization. I'm allowed to tell you that much."

Kit nodded. "Where are Lemony and Jacques?" she asked.

"They went ahead of us, just to make sure everything is," she didn't want to say "safe" and scare Kit, "according to plan."

Kit, however, noticed he pause and its meaning. She looked out the window again. "How long will it be like this?"

"Do you mean the drive? That should only be a while longer."

"No, that's not what I mean, and you know that." Kit never took her eyes away from the window. "How long will I have to blindly take orders?"

"Kit, no one's trying to treat you like that."

"I'm sure they're not, but you've noticed, too. Like now, for instance, you won't tell me where I'm going or why. You won't talk to me about my parents. You won't tell me what you're _really _doing."

"Trust me, it's better this way. You'll have to worry soon enough. I just don't want you to give up on childhood just yet."

"I don't like being in the dark."

Beatrice sighed. "That's what we all said."

They were silent for a few minutes before the driver said, "Get ready, Beatrice, we're less than a quarter hour away."

"Thank you," she replied before pressing a button that raised a barrier between the front and back seats. She handed Kit a bag of clothes.

"I didn't think you'd want to walk inside wearing pajamas," she smiled.

Just as Kit finished changing and brushing her hair, the driver called, "Approaching the entrance."

Kit looked at Beatrice nervously.

"Kit, listen to me: We wouldn't be doing this if we weren't absolutely sure it would keep you safe."

The car began to slow, and Kit heard gravel crunching beneath the tires. When it came to a complete stop, Beatrice told Kit to "wait in the car for a minute."

"Why? You told me this was safe!"

"Yes, I did. I also told you to wait."

Kit was completely taken aback; this was such un-Beatrice –like behavior. This was terrifying even before her friend nonchalantly pulled a gun from her coat pocket. Kit sat in a horrified trance for what felt like years, then Beatrice opened the taxi door.

"All clear," she told the driver. "Kit, will you come with me?"

Kit followed and gazed upon a massive hotel. Its size wasn't what mainly captivated her, however.

"This hotel looks like it belongs in a mirror," she commented.

"It does, doesn't it? Quite a genius design, in my opinion."

The driver opened the trunk and helped unload Kit's suitcases. Right on cue, two identical boys around Kit's age appeared with a trolley.

"May we help you?" one offered politely.

"That would be splendid," replied Beatrice. She began whistling a tune that Kit immediately recognized.

"Mozart's 14th Symphony, it's one of my favorites!"

Beatrice smiled and continued to whistle as she walked into the hotel lobby. She rang the bell on the counter, and a woman in a red uniform greeted her. She wore a charm bracelet with a small, silver bell which she rang once.

"Your song was both lovely and fitting."

"Thank you," replied Beatrice, "I'm glad to hear that."

The woman rang her charm again.

"Is it possible that you could help me?" Beatrice asked. "You see, the two young boys carrying our bags over in that area have been a great help, but is there a safe?"

"Confirmed," the woman replied, and an alarm clock rang in the background.

"As I'm sure you know," continued Beatrice, "There is something of great importance which must be kept safe from harm."

"I'm aware of the situation." She handed Beatrice a silver key.

"Thank you very much. Kit, will you follow me?"

The identical boys appeared behind them. "To what floor, ma'am?" the polite boy asked.

Beatrice looked at the key, "Floor eight," she replied, "Room 818."

"Beatrice!" Lemony called from the lobby.

"Kit, I'll meet up with you in a minute. Go straight to the room, alright?" And she left the elevator.

The boy pushed the respective button, and the elevator bell rang.

Kit looked at him. "I have to say that, in reality, I did not think I would like moving here. I'm still fairly nervous, you see, about beginning what seems like a new life. Can you tell me about this place? That could really help. I'm glad to meet someone the same age as me."

For the briefest of moments, he appeared petrified but quickly recovered. "Now that sounds like a splendid idea. Tell me again, why did you relocate? Is there any chance that it would relate to the men who bear a resemblance to you? I was surprised to see them with many packages. Say, how long will you stay at the Hotel Denouement? That interests me, if it's not too personal."

"Call me sometime so we can chat more, and, no, it is definitely not too personal. To me, that's entirely a reasonable question. Grandmother could not move due to her hunch. Hopefully she will visit us soon so you can meet her. You know, that woman means so much to me. In fact, I would hazard to say that she, in our family, is one of, if not single handedly, the most important member. Where is Beatrice, who went to the lobby? Oh, dear, I hope that I don't get lost, at least. Hopefully she will appear before the hour of midnight."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the boy give a quick nod just before the elevator bell rang again.

"Wonderful, here we are."

He pulled the luggage cart toward 818, and, after Kit unlocked it, rolled it inside.

"Good day, miss," he said good-naturedly as he left.

Kit watched him leave. This was a most interesting person; he understood her Sebald code:

"_I think you can help me."_

"_Now why would you say that?"_

"_Call it a hunch. Meet me in the lobby at midnight." _

The first word of dialogue and every tenth thereafter, between the ringing of a bell. It was the same code with which Beatrice and the lobby lady had conversed upon their arrival.

Kit began to unpack her belongings, urging the clock to tick faster.

* * *

At 11:50, Kit quietly crept out of bed and took the stairs down to the lobby, where she desperately hoped the friendly young man would be waiting.

She was not disappointed.

"Good evening," she greeted.

He laughed. "You should really work on your coding skills. You grandmother? Really?" He laughed again. "Try not to completely go on a tangent. It makes you…. slightly less than inconspicuous."

"Can you help me?" Kit wasted no time.

He suddenly became serious. "I don't know. What do you need?"

"My parents were killed two days ago due to their affiliation with some secret organization," she replied bluntly. "I need to know why. I need to know what they were doing. Why do people speak in code? Why is this called a safe haven? What's going on?"

"I don't know much, myself. Listen, I can't stay long, but honestly, I want to help. If you'll excuse me, I have another day of cart-pushing tomorrow, and I really must get to bed." He began to walk away.

"Wait, what's your name?"

"My apologies, where are my manors? I am Frank Denouement, and my brother, Earnest, was the other lad you saw with me today. I won't be a bit offended if you mix our names at times. Everyone does."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Frank. My name is Kit."

"Charming," he replied. "Goodnight, Miss Kit."

"Goodnight, Frank," and they walked their separate ways.


End file.
